Seventeen years ago...
To kill a god. What does it take for a human to kill a god? How long does it take for a man to widdle away at that reality? That man can not kill a god, that man stands no chance. How long does it take for that man to die, for that man to break, for that man to turn to dust?
Was it but a child birthed at the wrong place at the wrong time? His hair brown like dirt, his eyes bright and green, he was a beautiful child, but also a child of unfortunate destiny. His mother killed herself when he turned three and his father died when he turned five. When he turned six he was cast out from his home and sent into the Badlands, where he was stranded to walk alone in the empty unknown world.
Kingdoms would not give him sanctuary, and the neighboring towns wouldn't take him in. So he was left to himself, a six-year-old boy wandering the empty sands of time. A vagrant. A child of no home.
The sand dragged against his feet as he achingly walked, the burning sensation as the puss and blisters boiled up. He would walk for days, for nights, for so long that it felt like an eternity. And whenever he would look up at the sun all he would see was the horrific sight of a holy being. All he saw was his father. Cursed to widdle his skin and bone to black dust.
---
When his father was in his death bed, his eyes were always pointed out through that singular broken window. He was always staring at the sun. His eyes burned with the sight of that holy being, a being so blessed that it brought and took life with just its burning presence. He called it a God.
In the last moments of his life, when his father's eyes turned to fear the only words that could pour out from his bleeding mouth were, "oh God! Save me God! God! Please God! Please God save me!"
And as his green-eyed son looked into his father's brown-eyed plea, he felt sick to his stomach. All his father could see was the sun and not his son, all he could see was his own selfish desires and not selflessness. He couldn't see his dying wife, he couldn't see his debt, nor his drinking and gambling problems. All he could see was the sun, all he could see was the god-damned sun. The God of sun, the son of God, but not his son with God. A Godless son, a life not worth living, a wife not worth treating. A tired life destined to repeat the same words, over and over again.
A requiem...
---
One year later the Son walked the empty desert, his body covered in blisters and sores, his eyes bloodshot and burned from the sun, his hair burnt to a black crisp from the dry heat. He stood at the end, his life going blank as he fell from one grain to the next. And all that could repeat in his head were those thoughts. Those ideas of God that his father spewed out on his death bed.
Of what God could mean? Of what God could be? Of what God is? God?
As he walked the line between death, his skin turning to dust from the very sun he demised, a glittering stick protruded from the ground in the distance. A stick long and pointed, a bright golden black, contrasted against the deep orange sand around it.
That glittering black, his ideas flowing out like melted butter as he preached to himself. As the sun bounced off that shine, his eyes bled a deep deep horror of red. Then he cracked, the boy started to preach. He started to sing the same words his father once cried.
"God! Oh God! Please God! Why God?! I don't want to die God! I don't want to die God!"
He looked down on the stick. Its black frame and golden edges. It had a holy nature, brazen with an immaculate edge, pointed and sharp. Then the words that he sand through his father's throat perpetuated in his head.
And he said, "is this a joke God! On my death bed... You give me this? You give me..."
He pulled the black stick from the sand and held it to the sky.
He then screamed out in anger, "I will kill you God!"
To the boy, he thought that that was the end of him. That he would die in that sandy desert, his chapped lips unable to even speak. But to his surprise, it would be the very stick that he cursed God with that would save him. It wasn't a stick... The boy had never seen a stick before, nor had he ever seen a weapon much like the one he was holding. This stick was in fact something as strong as a God, but nothing the same as one. It was something man-made, yet something estranged from mortality. It was a sword blessed by beings of supernatural powers. It was the Sword of Thunder. The first sword of Feun.
And this boy's name was Tusk.
---
At the same time one year later another boy wandered the same lands of time. He carried with him a sword of white, dragged across by his bleeding hands of fate. He searched and search across the world, looking for the meaning in life, for his meaning in the world at large. This boy's name was Sariel and unlike Tusk, he saw himself as not a man of pity and death, but a man of meaning and greatness.
The boy in his final destined journey traveled to the highest peak in all the lands and with all his strength he cast upon the one they speak of as God. He said in one denouncing request, that he would resentment him and have no faith in him, but in return, God must make himself true to his eyes, for then he can truly know his meaning in life.
But God did no such thing and the boy was left in solitude among the sand. His bleeding body a cast against his pitch blue eyes and yellow hair.
He cried.
"Is there no such thing as God? Is there no such thing as meaning to this life? All those who spoke of you in the villages, all those who spoke of you across the Kingdoms. They claim you have spoken back to them. The church, the minister, the men and women who pray. Why do they say they hear your voice? Do you exist?"
He stared at the sky, his white sword by his side, his beauty in the sand.
It was a selfish request to a mortal. To kill God, to do him any hard. It was foolish for any mear boy to conjure those thoughts. But Sariel thought those exact thoughts. He thought of God and he thought of those who thought about him. He resented him, he hated his guts, and he more than all wanted to kill him.
---
This was the beginning of their fated path... A path of the prophecy foretold twenty years later... The end of the world.